


Roots and Wings

by enigmaticblue



Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hardison gets wings. It’s a surprise to everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roots and Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the trope_bingo prompt “wingfic” and with thanks to zanthinegirl who made the suggestion and cindergal who seconded it. This one’s for you.

The ringing of the phone has Sophie groaning. “I thought you turned that off.”

 

“So did I,” Nate replies and reaches for it blindly. A glance at the screen confirms that he had turned it off, but that it’s one of the few numbers that is allowed to ring through—mostly because he knows Hardison won’t call him unless it’s a true emergency.

 

Nate doesn’t spare time for pleasantries. “What is it?”

 

“You won’t believe this!” Hardison says. “ _I_ don’t believe this. I can’t explain it! What the fuck, man? There are feathers!”

 

Nate pulls the phone away from his ear and lets Hardison ramble on wildly. Sophie props herself up on an elbow. “What’s going on?” she whispers.

 

He shrugs and hits the speaker button. “Feathers, Nate! What the hell am I supposed to do with this? How do I get rid of them?”

 

“Get rid of what, Hardison?” Sophie asks, leaning a little closer, pushing her dark hair out of her eyes.

 

“The wings!” Hardison’s voice has risen half an octave, the way it always does when he’s panicking.

 

Sophie frowns. “Are you drunk? Where are Parker and Eliot?”

 

There’s the sound of a scuffle, and Nate hears Eliot’s familiar growl, “Give me that, before I rip them off myself!”

 

There are a few other strange, muffled sounds, and Eliot barks, “Parker!” And then there’s a moment of silence before Eliot says clearly, “Sorry about that. Hardison’s been freaking out since it happened.”

 

“What exactly is _it_?” Nate asks, not bothering to hide his impatience, although it’s mostly worry at this point. He’s beginning to wonder whether an angry client had drugged Hardison—or worse.

 

Eliot makes a noise that clearly expresses his disgust. “He grew wings.”

 

“Excuse me?” Sophie asks, right on top of Nate’s, “ _What_?”

 

“Wings,” Eliot confirms. “With feathers.”

 

Nate meets Sophie’s eyes, and she looks just as incredulous as he feels. It seems impossible, but in the face of Hardison’s panic, and Eliot’s matter of fact growl, belief seems to be the only option. “When, and how?” Nate asks after a moment.

 

“Best guess, someone on our last job had a friend or relative who practices the black arts,” Eliot replies. “They sprouted in the last couple of hours.”

 

Nate almost asks what Eliot would know about the black arts, but then he thinks, _Right, this is Eliot._

 

Sophie’s grimace suggests her thoughts are running along the same lines. “What kind of wings are we talking about?” Sophie asks.

 

Her phone lights up on the nightstand on her side of the bed, and she rolls away to pick it up, holding it between them. The photo shows Parker sitting on Hardison’s back, pinning him down with a move she could have only learned from Eliot, in between a pair of huge, white wings, their outline slightly blurred.

 

 “Huh,” Nate mutters. “That’s not something you see every day. Also, Parker’s getting good at that.”

 

“She’s a good student,” Eliot acknowledges. “But I gotta say, Nate, I have no idea what to do with this. They’re fucking _wings_.”

 

Nate runs his fingers through his hair, thinking fast, remembering a contact or two he’d made over the years. “I know a couple of guys who might be able to help, or would at least know someone who can.”

 

Eliot breathes a sigh of relief. “Great. How soon can they get here? Because I’m about ready to rip them off myself.”

 

“I’ll let them know it’s urgent,” Nate replies. “Look for a couple of brothers by the name of Winchester.”

 

“Thanks,” Eliot replies. “Are you coming?”

 

Since they’re halfway around the world, Nate’s pretty sure they wouldn’t get there in time to do much good, but he raises a questioning eyebrow at Sophie.

 

She shakes her head decisively. “We can’t get away right now,” she begins, “but video is welcome. Keep us updated.”

 

“Will do,” Eliot replies. Before he hangs up, Nate hears him say, “Calm down before I _put_ you down, Hardison!”

 

Nate shakes his head. “Are you sure we shouldn’t have gone back to Portland?”

 

“When we left, we decided that they’d have to make it on their own,” Sophie points out. “We gave them roots and wings.” She pauses. “Although I didn’t think that would be in the literal sense.”

 

Nate chuckles. “I’ll call the Winchesters. If anyone can figure this out, they can—and if that doesn’t work, we’ll go.”

 

Sophie gives him a coy smile. “Once you’ve called them, I can think of a few ways to take advantage of the fact that we’re both awake.”

 

Nate smiles, and it’s only his promise that prevents him from suggesting they reverse the order of affairs. “Hold that thought.”

 

~~~~~

 

It takes far longer than Eliot expects for Hardison to wear himself out.

 

They’d reached a satisfactory conclusion for their latest client the day before. Eliot had retreated to his own place for some sleep and a little downtime, leaving the other two to do whatever they did between cases. The first sign of trouble had come with a text message early in the morning from Parker that read simply, “COME NOW.”

 

Since Parker’s the sort of person to keep her head, Eliot hadn’t hesitated, arriving to find Hardison having a complete meltdown as the nascent wings on his back grew rapidly.

 

“This is wrong!” Hardison shouted as soon as Eliot walked in the door. “This is _so_ wrong.”

 

Parker’s mouth was tight with worry and a touch of fear, and Eliot said the first thing that came to mind. “Relax. They’re not going to kill you.”

 

“Relax?” Hardison demanded. “ _Relax_? Seriously? That’s the line you’re giving me?”

 

The admonition had worked on Parker, though, because she’d cracked a smile. “You said they don’t hurt.”

 

Hardison whirled to glare at her, and his wingspan had probably grown six inches in just the last couple of minutes. “Just because they don’t hurt doesn’t mean I’m not going to die!” And then he’d said, “I’m calling Nate.”

 

While Eliot had been inclined to let Nate give advice and calm Hardison down, Hardison had just kept rambling on, making no sense, which left Eliot no choice but to take matters into his own hands.

 

Thankfully, Parker had regained enough of her cool at that point to pin Hardison down and let Eliot take over. And right now, they’re waiting for Nate’s guys to show up.

 

Parker’s let Hardison up, and the wings seem to have reached their full size. Hardison’s standing in front of the screens, stretching out his wings, calm enough to start making comic book references.

 

“Seriously, I think this makes me a member of the X-Men,” Hardison says, and flaps his wings a couple of times, rising up onto his toes. “Look at this!”

 

“I’m looking,” Parker replies, and even she’s starting to sound a little bored. “It’s very cool.”

 

Hardison cranes his neck, trying to get a better view. “I don’t get why they’re white. I mean, whoever did this must have chosen the color. Do I look like a guy who should have _white_ wings?”

 

Parker shrugs. “I think they look good.”

 

Eliot would never admit it, but she’s right. As Hardison stretches out his wings, he actually feels a stab of envy. If he were Hardison, he’d be figuring out how he could use it to his advantage. Hell, he’d find a place where he could fly.

 

Then again, Hardison isn’t a big fan of heights, so maybe flying isn’t on his list of things to do.

 

“You think I could fly?” Hardison asks. He beats his wings, which sends up a strong gust.

 

“Enough!” Eliot growls. He’d like to go home and get some space, but he can’t leave until they get this resolved. “You can’t fly in here.”

 

“But I could fly somewhere else,” Hardison responds enthusiastically. “We could go somewhere.”

 

“An hour ago, you wanted to get rid of them,” Eliot replies.

 

Parker gives him a reproving look. “We could find a place for him to fly.”

 

“No, we can’t,” Eliot snaps. “Somebody could take a potshot at him.”

 

If Hardison isn’t on the ground, Eliot can’t protect him, and that’s his job—making sure Hardison and Parker are in one piece.

 

Hardison stretches his wings out. “Come on, man. Admit that it’s cool.”

 

Eliot rolls his eyes. “It’s cool.”

 

Hardison grins. “Right?”

 

“Get some sleep,” Eliot advises. “I’ll wait up in case they show tonight.”

 

Hardison visibly deflates, his wings drawing close to his body. “Party pooper.”

 

“Someone has to keep you in one piece,” Eliot replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go to bed.”

 

“Come on, Hardison,” Parker coaxes. “I want to touch your wings.”

 

Eliot looks up at the ceiling, praying for patience. “ _Go_.”

 

He knows that Parker has no idea what that comment sounds like, but there are some things he would rather not know.

 

Although he sleeps in snatches, Eliot stays alert. He’s used to sleeping with one eye open, so to speak, and he hears the footfalls outside the door before he hears the knocking.

 

He opens the door after the first knock to find two big guys on the other side, dressed in jeans and flannel, wearing friendly smiles.

 

The shorter guy looks him up and down, taking his measure in much the same way Eliot just had for them. “You must be Eliot Spencer.”

 

“That’s me,” Eliot replies evenly.

 

“I’m Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam,” he explains. “Nate Ford sent us.”

 

“Come in,” Eliot says, although he’s on his guard. Both Winchesters have soldiers’ eyes, and he can tell they’re men who’ve seen too much. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

 

Dean shrugs. “It just so happened we were in the area. Where’s our vic?”

 

“His name’s Hardison,” Eliot warns.

 

Dean holds up his hands, as though in surrender. “Sorry. My bad. Hardison, then. We can get a better idea of what’s wrong when we see him.”

 

Eliot shrugs. “Hardison!” he shouts. “Get your ass down here!”

 

Dean and Sam exchange an amused look, and then Hardison stumbles out of the bedroom, the wings knocking into things, and Parker trailing him.

 

“What?” Hardison demands. “I thought you were the one who told us to sleep.”

 

Eliot shrugs. “They’re prompt.”

 

Dean is obviously checking Parker out, and Sam is shooting her surreptitious glances that clearly telegraph his own interest.

 

Hardison bristles, his feathers fluffing out. “What are you two looking at?”

 

Sam lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “There’s no problem here. We just wanted to figure out how we could help.”

 

Dean glances at Parker one more time, and when she stays focused on Hardison, he says, “Looks like something we’ve dealt with before. We’ll need the names of your most recent clients, and see if anything pops on the witchy scale.”

 

“There’s an actual scale for witches?” Parker asks.

 

Dean frowns and glances at his brother, clearly trying to decide whether she’s serious. When he realizes she probably is, Dean responds, “Not an official one, but there are a few signs.”

 

“What are they?” Parker asks.

 

Sam looks fairly bemused, but he replies, “If you have internet…”

 

“I’ll get you set up,” Hardison offers, and his right wing nearly knocks over a lamp.

 

While Hardison is talking to Sam, and Parker is hovering over both of them, Eliot asks, “You really think you can get this figured out?”

 

Dean shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Chances are, it’ll last for a day, and then the wings will disappear. If that doesn’t work, we’ll find a way to break the curse.”

 

Eliot glances at the clock and notes that it’s a well after midnight but still before dawn. “You want a beer?”

 

Dean grins broadly. “Definitely. Sammy’s the one who’s got the book smarts. I’m mostly just the muscle.”

 

Eliot can relate to that. “I’ll grab a couple of cold ones.”

 

He might not know these two, but Nate had vouched for them, and he’s got a gut-level instinct that they’re trustworthy, and Eliot trusts his gut.

 

It might not be such a bad night after all.

 

~~~~~

 

Parker isn’t quite sure what to think about the Winchesters. Dean and Eliot seem to hit it off right away, and it’s soon obvious that Hardison and Sam are kindred spirits in research and using technology—even if Parker thinks Hardison is the more brilliant of the two.

 

Personally, she kind of hopes the wings stick around for a little while at least, because they’re really cool.

 

And she doesn’t mind the fact that the wings necessitate Hardison leaving his shirt off.

 

“I can’t believe anyone has an unsecured internet connection these days,” Hardison grumbles.

 

“It makes our lives easier,” Sam points out.

 

Hardison nods. “Granted, but it’s not much of a challenge. Okay, I’m in.”

 

“Look for anything relating to the occult, spells, you name it,” Sam directs, leaning over Hardison’s shoulder.

 

Hardison takes a swig of orange soda. “Working on it.”

 

Parker perches nearby, watching as they devolve into geek talk, keeping half an ear out for Eliot, who seems to be talking weaponry with Dean.

 

In truth, she feels a little left out. There’s nothing she can do to help right now; she can’t even make a plan until she has more information.

 

“Okay, here we go,” Hardison announces. “Looks like she was researching curses about 24 hours ago.”

 

Sam takes over the search, filtering through the data quickly. “Not it, not it—here. It’s what we thought.”

 

Hardison leans in, his eyebrows going up incredulously. “Is this for real?”

 

“Look at the results,” Sam replies with a smile. “And it looks like it will wear off in a couple of days. This kind of curse generally takes a lot of energy to sustain, which is not something you’d know unless you were actually a witch.”

 

“What’s the point?” Parker asks. “Wings don’t seem like much of a curse.”

 

Sam shrugs. “Wings make it really hard to do your job. You can’t go out in public, it’s harder to get around, and if you do go out, everybody is going to freak out. It makes sense in a weird sort of way.”

 

Hardison clicked on another link. “Also, the difference between the curse for suppurating boils and wings is one ingredient.”

 

Sam frowns. “Tail of newt for one, and skin of newt for the other. And since tails generally have skin on them, I could see where someone might think they could sub a tail for the skin.”

 

“So, he’ll lose the wings in a couple of days?” Eliot asks, demonstrating that he’d been listening.

 

Sam shrugs. “Best guess, no more than 48 hours, unless she’s got something else fueling her curse. If they don’t go away on their own, we can either force her to remove the curse, or kill her.”

 

Parker wrinkles her nose. “We’re not really in the business of killing people.”

 

“Leave that to us,” Dean advises. “But we’re not saying it’s going to come to that. Odds are, the wings will disappear. Look, we’ve got another job in the area. Give us a call in a few days if they aren’t gone, and we’ll do whatever it takes.”

 

Eliot shows them to the door, and Parker hears him express gratitude and say, “Let us know if we can help.”

 

Eliot sticks around a little while longer, and then he says, “If you don’t need me, I think I’m going to go home, get some sleep.”

 

“We’ll be okay,” Parker replies, wanting a little space herself. “Thanks.”

 

Eliot smiles. “Any time. You know that.” He looks at Hardison. “You okay?”

 

Hardison’s wings fan out a bit. “Fine, man.”

 

When Eliot’s gone, Parker walks over to Hardison. “I know they’re inconvenient, but the wings are really cool.”

 

A delighted smile breaks over Hardison’s face. “Seriously?”

 

She reaches out hesitantly, running a hand over the bone protruding from his shoulder in a graceful arc, and Hardison shivers. “Oh.”

 

Parker smiles and runs her fingers through the feathers, knowing from last night how he’ll respond.

 

Hardison closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Oh, God,” he manages.

 

“I like feathers,” Parker admits. “And wings. I’ve always wanted to fly.”

 

Hardison smiles. “I’d find a way to give you wings if you asked.”

 

“Maybe,” Parker replies, finding the idea intriguing. “We could find a place for you to fly.”

 

Hardison shakes his head. “I think I’m going to pass. I have a couple of other ideas, though.”

 

Parker smiles. “I’m listening.”

 

~~~~~

 

When Hardison wakes up a couple of days later and the wings are gone, he’s actually kind of disappointed. Once he got over the initial panic, having wings hadn’t been too bad. Parker had certainly liked them, and Hardison is already trying to figure out how to give her the same opportunity.

 

He doubts Parker’s feet would even touch the ground—although Hardison had definitely done his own share of flying.

 

Hardison glances over at Parker’s sleeping figure, and feels a wave of gratitude. When she murmurs sleepily and rolls towards him, he smiles.

Life is good.


End file.
